The science behind Lycanthropy, other carnal urges
by Pursnikitie
Summary: After his first day back to Hogwarts for his sixth year Sherlock finds that maybe it won't be as boring as he initially thought. Enter John Watson, Gryffindor, Quidditch player, recently turned werewolf. Interesting. Eventual Johnlock. M for later chaps
1. The state of her knees

**The science behind Lycanthropy**

**and other carnal urges**

**A Sherlock/Harry Potter**

**Crossover**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock or Harry Potter or anything at all of value, please don't sue. I am poor.

**Chapter one:** The state of her knees

Sherlock was bored, and when Sherlock Holmes was bored it usually lead to trouble. The tall, dark haired boy let out an audible sigh as he fidgeted in his seat. His leg was bouncing under his table and more than a few students, and even the Professor gave him a dirty look. His fingers tapped rhythmically by his textbook, to Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. Bored. His shockingly pale blue eyes scanned across the room fervently. Everyone here was dull, ordinary, and uninteresting. There was no one worth knowing.

He stopped his train of thought. There was one person. One person whom he would like to have had interaction with was one John H. Watson. First year he had wanted to introduce himself to the shorter blond boy. There was something about him, an assuredness that none of the other students seemed to share. It was obvious he had muggle parents. This world should have awed him, frightened him, but instead he took it all in with a serene sort of calm.

That was six years ago, however and Sherlock never did introduce himself. He had wound up in Slytherin and John, Gryffindor. At the time his older brother Mycroft was Head boy of Ravenclaw, and the disappointment that he wasn't sorted there as well was so blatantly evident even an eleven year old could see it.

Class was nearly over before John walked in. He was different this year. His normally kempt hair was sticking out in all directions. His eyes were dark from not sleeping, and just with a quick scan of the scene Sherlock could clearly see the way he was favouring one leg over the other with a slight limp in his step. His eyes scanned further noticing a slight tremor in his left hand, it was more then likely he had a wound of some sort on his shoulder. He had been attacked by something and recently. Between the beginning of summer holiday and before returning to Hogwarts. If Sherlock were willing to venture a guess he would say it happened barely after he had gotten home.

"Why thank you, Mr Watson, for showing up to my class at all." Professor McGonagall said dryly not turning to face him.

"S-sorry Ma'am." He stuttered slightly. Fighting hard for the words to come out. "I've been in the infirmary all morning."

"Yes, well, take a seat." Sherlock noted a slight change in her demeanor and tone. It was almost apologetic. John's normal group of friends didn't make eye contact with him and hadn't left a seat open for his eventual arrival.

That in itself was peculiar, normally they were as thick as thieves. Something was going on here. Suddenly Sherlock found himself not quite as bored as he'd been previously. His first day back was going better than expected. He noticed John take a quick scan across the room looking for an empty seat. His eyes landed on Sherlock who was still eying him like a slide under a microscope. Without a second glance he made his way over taking the available seat next to him. John nodded to him as a polite greeting. It must have been weird for him sitting so close to a Slytherin. It wouldn't be surprising if he believed in the old house rivalries. Sherlock was about to nod back in return when McGonagall signaled that it was time for class to be over.

A week or so had passed. In all Sherlock wound up having four classes with John Watson: Transfiguration, Potions, Defense Against the Dark arts, and Charms who coincidentally ended up sitting next to him in everyone of those classes. Sherlock assumed it was because he always sat by himself, in the back of the class, away from everyone so he couldn't be bothered by all of their thinking. The mass amounts of stupidity gave him migraines.

"Morning." John greeted as he sat next to Sherlock for potions class. The bags under his eyes were amplified by how pale his normally tanned face was. Sherlock was momentarily taken off guard by the verbal greeting. There was a ghost of a smile on the blond boys face.

"Morning." Sherlock's calculating eyes scanned the other boy over. He had multiple scratches on his hands and arms and a thick white bandage over his neck. There weren't many student in the class yet and Professor Slughorn was reading the Daily prophet at his desk. "Rough transformation last night?" He lowered his voice so that those who were in the room couldn't hear.

"Wha-what?" John's eyes grew wide. The terror that another student was aware of his secret terrified him, "I d-don't know wh-what you're talking about. I got these scratches from care of magical creatures yesterday."

Sherlock leaned on his desk putting both his hands in front of his mouth as if in prayer, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "It's been clear from your demeanor since first day that something traumatic happened over summer holidays. You're walking with a limp, but yet when entering a room you don't automatically go for a seat to get off it, as if you've forgotten its hurting. So it must be psychosomatic, and your left hand suffers from tremors, leading me to believe that there was possible nerve damage from when you were attacked. From the way you wear your uniform I'm willing to bet you were scratched on your left shoulder, possibly even across the chest. You've been uncharacteristically quiet and have distanced yourself from your friends so it must be something you don't want them to know and are afraid that if they find out they wouldn't want anything to do with you anymore so you cut all ties before they could." He hadn't taken a breath during his analysis and was about to say more when John interrupted.

"You got all that from how I wear my clothes and how I walk?" His earlier panic dissipated and was replaced with awe.

Sherlock opened one of his eyes and peered in John's direction. "It's obvious isn't it? The first two buttons of your shirt are undone and your tie is barely around your neck. This is a drastic change, from the almost militant way you wore your uniform last year, and is surely caused by something that causes you great discomfort in your shoulder."

"That was... Amazing."

The taller boy quirked an eyebrow. This was not the usual reaction he got when dissecting someones life from a glance. "Yes I am, obviously, but that's not the normal reaction I get."

"Oh? What do people normally say?"

"... Piss off..."

John had an almost blank look on his face before his lips began to turn into a large smile. The first laugh came out as a giggle, then a chuckle and before he knew it he was out right laughing. Sherlock couldn't help but join in with the other boy. By now most of the students were in their seats, and looking at the two chuckling boys, confusion written clearly across there faces. It took them a few moments to compose themselves but soon Sherlock had his normal expressionless face back on. John, however, kept his grin.

They didn't speak again until class was over and most of the other students had filed out. "Sherlock." John spoke as if he were uncertain with what he would say next.

The curly haired boy turned to face him, waiting. "Yes?" His deep voice seemed to echo in the now empty dungeon class room.

"You won't tell anyone will you? About what I am?"

"Who would I tell? I don't talk to anybody."

John's face lit up and he extended his hand. "You can talk to me if you want." Sherlock looked at the shorter boys hand before grasping it in his own longer one in a firm handshake. "Brilliant!"

It had been a few days since John had first spoken to Sherlock. He didn't understand why it was so easy to talk to the cold, automaton-like person but it was nice. He hadn't really spoken to anyone since the incident, or rather he had no one to talk too. He didn't know what to say, and words had been failing him lately. He thought of his friends. He'd known them all for five years and knew for a fact that most of their reactions wouldn't be in his favor. He took a deep reflective breath in and exhaled it slowly as he made his way down to the Great Hall, slowly, limping as he walked.

The other day in potions class had been the first time he'd laughed in what seemed like ages. It felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and that some of the burden of his memories were evaporating. This must be what healing felt like. He was finally at the Great Hall, and looked mournfully at the Gryffindor table. He couldn't face them. His gaze then automatically drifted towards the Slytherin table. Sherlock sat at the very end as far away as possible from the rest of his house. He was scrunched over, furiously, writing notes of some kind not looking up.

John was amazed at how small Sherlock could make himself look. It was almost cat like the way his long, lithe body was folded over the table. The blond boy walked over to his curly haired classmate and cleared his throat, alerting him to his presence. Sherlock said nothing and kept writing, but did shoot a small glance in his direction to show he was listening. "Mind if I sit with you?" Sherlock stopped writing and looked up at him with an almost perplexed expression. "Do you?"

"No."

"Brilliant." John slid in beside him. Being near Sherlock gave him an odd calm feeling. He started filling his plate with toast and bacon. After he was attacked his appetite seemed to increase tenfold and he was always hungry. He grimaced as he chewed, he preferred his meat rare these days. He looked to Sherlock who was still hunched over, writing. "What are you working on?"

"A letter, I need some things sent from home."

John began filling his plate with eggs this time as the two boys sat in silence. He had to be on his fourth plate of food when he heard the distinct sound of a foot tapping impatiently behind him. The blond boy turned slowly looking at the pair of feet and brought his gaze to look up at the person who they belonged to. The dark skin of one Sally Donovan caught his eye as she stared daggers at him.

"So," She dragged the word out rather nastily, "You don't speak with us at all over Summer, you don't explain to us what happened to you over the holiday, and when you get back you tell us you don't want anything to do with any of us..." There was an unnerving amount of rage behind her calm facade. John looked behind her to see the rest of his friends. Sarah, Mike, Allen, Sean, Allison, and Zack were all looking at him. He could see the looks of confused dejection on their faces and he was genuinely hurt by the fact that he was the cause of it. "And yet here you are hanging out with... with this FREAK!" She thrust her finger out in Sherlock's direction.

Through out the exchange Sherlock hadn't looked up from his parchment or even acknowledged the group of people that had formed behind them. "He's not a freak!" John's usually calm exterior shattered into tiny fragments around him. Something dark was clawing at the surface trying to escape. He had slammed his hand down on the table and it formed into a tightly balled fist. "And if you think he's a freak then I'm definitely a freak..." He trailed off.

"Oh... John... you're not a..." Sarah started to say before Sally turned abruptly.

"Come on, we're leaving!"

"Yes, wouldn't want to keep Anderson waiting would you?" Sherlock's deep voice sliced through the thick tension as if it were melted butter.

The dark skinned girl spun quickly on her heel, staring daggers into the unnaturally pale boy. "What did you just say, freak?"

"I said 'yes, you wouldn't want to keep Anderson waiting'."

"Anderson? One of the Slytherin Quidditch players? What does he have to do with anything?" Mike asked, a confused look on his face.

"Take a look at the state of her knees." Sherlock sniffed the air, "And I'd recognize that ghastly cologne anywhere."

Everyone, even John turned to look at Sally's knees. He didn't get what Sherlock was on about, and by the looks of everyone else neither did they. John decided that he would take his word on it however after seeing the unbridled look of rage adorning Sally's face.

"This isn't over FREAK!" The curly haired Gryffindor stormed off leaving the rest behind.

"Well, we'll talk to you later John. Whenever you're ready." Sarah tried to smile at him, "and we're sorry for what Sally said about you Sherlock. It was wrong of her." The rest of them followed suit apologizing for their friends behavior but Sherlock was already back to his parchment, seemingly not hearing any of it.

**A/N: ** Feedback is highly appreciated and all that jazz. Also this chapter may change as I am not entirely happy with it, but it will probably be only minor tweaks. Reviews are always welcomed, and I also don't mind criticism as long as its constructive. Hope you enjoyed.


	2. You're not a monster

**The science behind Lycanthropy**

**and other carnal urges**

**A Sherlock/Harry Potter**

**Crossover**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock or Harry Potter or anything at all of value, please don't sue. I am poor.

**Chapter two:** You're not a Monster

**Three Month's Earlier... **

John breathed deeply as he stepped off the Hogwarts express. He said his final goodbyes to his teammates and friends. As much as he missed home, it was going to be hell not being able to fly on his broom. There were times when he resented being muggle born. He walked through the barrier on Platform 9 3/4 coming face to face with his parents. They smiled warmly as he made his way over to them. After seeing how proud and happy they were to see him he banished those thoughts all together. However there was something missing.

"Where's Harry?" The blond boy questioned at his sisters absence.

His mothers smile faltered for a moment as she brushed some of her wavy blond hair out of her face. "Oh... you know your sister John."

"She's with her 'friend' Clara." His father finished scratching his head.

"Oh... She didn't want to see me." The sound of disappointment in his voice surprised even him. After he'd gotten his Hogwarts letter Harry had never quite treated him the same. Jealousy did awful things to a relationship.

During the car ride home John didn't say much, but patted his pet owl Archimedes through his cage. He was an old light brown tawny owl who his parents had bought for him his first time at Diagon alley. He had come with the name, being old when they had gotten him but it fit the owl perfectly. He had grown to love the cantankerous old bird over the years.

That night they were going to have a large dinner to celebrate John's coming home from his fifth year at school. Harry had refused to come home. They had their differences, sure, but John didn't feel right having a family dinner with out her. He stepped outside, into the backyard staring at the trees as the large full moon rose in the sky. He could hear Archimedes hoots as the bird hunted for the night. He flipped open his mobile and dialed his sisters number. It felt like it was ringing forever before she finally picked up with an annoyed,

"What?"

"Hello to you too." He smiled into the receiver.

"What do you want?" She was practically snarling at him.

"I just wanted to know if you're going to come home for dinner. Mum's making a roast and its not the same if you're not home too."

"I'm with Clara."

"She can come too, Mum always makes too much." He could hear a howling in the distance but paid it no mind, must have been a dog.

Harry let out an insulting laugh, "Yeah right! You'd just love that wouldn't you? You want to steal away her affections too? Become her favourite just like you did with Mum and Dad?"

John could feel the back of his neck burn. "What? N-no! I just wanted to see you... you are my older sister after all."

Harry was letting loose with her usual string of insults when John could hear something growling from the bushes near the back of the yard. He peered into the darkness trying to see what it was. A large clawed paw emerged from behind the foliage. His hand fell from his ear as a large black wolf with glowing amber eyes appeared, snarling, drool falling freely from its muzzle. He let out a small squeak of surprise. There were no wolves anywhere near here and this was easily two or even three times bigger than a natural one.

Harry was still letting out a string of curses that were growing increasingly louder from his mobile as he took a step back hoping to reach the door before this beast reached him. As his foot met with the soft grass its eyes narrowed onto him and it let out an ungodly howl as it stepped forward preparing to lunge.

An ear piercing screech that only an owl could make shocked him out of the stupor he entered. John saw it in slow motion. Archimedes swooped down dive-bombing the beasts head viciously pecking and clawing with all its might. The giant wolf snarled as it reared up to its hind legs, snapping at the old tawny owl, and catching him in its powerful jaws. John dropped his mobile as he heard the definitive crunch and last gurgled cry of his beloved pet.

His choked cry of "ARCHIMEDES!" brought the animals attention back to him. His cry had alerted his parents who were now at the screen door. His mother had a hand over her mouth and his father had grabbed his old hunting rifle, and was now opening the screen door to try and protect his child. "DAD! NO, STAY INSIDE!" The urgency in John's voice was evident but his father didn't listen. He stood in front of his child gun in hand as he aimed at the creature.

"Get inside with your mother John, run. Now!" The older man's finger squeezed the trigger as a deafening shot filled the air. The bullet hit the mark, as the animal let out a pained roar, but instead of stopping it the wound only made it advance farther.

"Dad! Stop! That won't work!" John pleaded with his father as he pulled on the back of his shirt urging him to flee.

"Get inside son." His voice was unnervingly calm as he fired his gun again, and again hitting the monstrous animal. The screen door opened and his mother stepped outside along with the two men.

"Both of you get inside!" She pulled on the collar of John's shirt with all her might causing him to stumble backwards.

It was then that John realized what it was. The werewolf lunged at his father swiping the gun out of his hands with its powerful paw. Blood splattered everywhere as its other connected with his fathers head. Everything was happening so fast and john's world began spinning as his father fell. He was dead before he hit the ground. His cry was stuck in his throat as his eyes filled with tears. The werewolf let out another threatening howl as it sauntered forward seemingly taunting John. Letting him know that the person it used to be knew exactly what it was doing and was enjoying every second of it.

John's hand instinctively went to his pocket where his wand was still safely kept. "Mom get inside." He couldn't look back at the weeping woman. He had to keep his eyes on the animal that was now pacing back and forth in front of him. _Your move._ It seemed to be saying to him. _Make it count, there's already a body on your hands._ "GET. IN. THE. HOUSE." He ordered his mother through clenched teeth, pulling his wand from his pocket and pointing it at the werewolf.

He began to shout out a spell when the wolf charged at him pinning him to the ground. John could feel the ribs cracking in his chest as the animal pushed all of its weight onto its forelegs. Drool was hanging from the animals muzzle as it stared him down. John let out a grunt of pain as he tried reaching for the wand that had fallen from his hands when he fell. The fabric on John's shirt began to rip as the werewolf raked his claws along his body. He let out a scream of pain as he felt his flesh rip apart over his left shoulder and down to his chest. Blood was everywhere and John could feel his life slipping away with it. The werewolves amber eyes seemed to flash red, as his blood was reflected into them.

"J-JOHN!" His mother's hysteric scream filled the air as she sobbed uncontrollably trying to crawl towards him.

"R... run..." The dieing blond boy croaked as he starting coughing up blood. "Mum...ple...please... run." His hand was still fumbling around for his wand.

Her movements were slow and unsure, as she tried to lift herself up. The beast seemed to lose interest in John at this point and if it were possible, the boy could have sworn that its maw was distorted into a sinister sneer. The wolf looked at him a final time, slobber falling freely into his open wound. _Yes, run, I love the chase, _were what its bloodthirsty eyes said to him.

It pounced off John, leaving him on the ground to cough and sputter as the dark pool of blood spread around him. It wouldn't be long now. John was still desperately reaching for his wand. He was so close, he could feel the wood with the tips of his fingers. Yes. So close. So close. It was his mothers gurgled scream that forced him to find his last shred of strength. He grabbed his wand taking dirt and grass with it as he sat up and pointed his wand at the blurring figure that was hunched over his screaming mother.

"STUPIFY!" He yelled as a red beam of light erupted from the tip of his wand. He knew it hit its intended target as its body went rigid and fell to the ground. The last thing he remembered before blackness enveloped him was a warm bright light and a soft voice telling him he would be okay.

"JOHN! MUM! DAD! SOMEBODY PICK UP!" Harry's voice was hoarse from screaming. She had heard the whole encounter and was crying into the phone. She had wanted to get back at her brother, too humiliate him in some way, but not like this. Never had she imagined that it would be like this.

John had never given death much thought, but he never imagined that it would involve a rhythmic beeping noise, or the smell of disinfectant. He also never imagined how much it would hurt to breath. Wait, breath? Why would being dead require breathing? His eyes shot open and closed again almost immediately from the glaring white light that enveloped the room. It took a few minutes for him to try opening his eyes once more, as they adjusted to the light his mind went into over drive. He went from being blissfully unaware, to horrified in under ten seconds flat. He tried to sit up, but the pain was unbearable. The blond boy tried moving his arms but found they were restrained with thick leather straps. He tugged at them almost pathetically, as a searing white pain enveloped his left shoulder.

He gritted his teeth, struggling with every fibre of his being against the restraints. His brain started systematically cataloguing every pain in his body. Sweat started dripping down his forehead, over his nose and onto the white hospital blankets. His breathing came in short hoarse bursts. Nothing however was going to stop him from struggling free of the restraints, he didn't like the feeling of being powerless. He was a Beater for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and if he wanted free, he was getting free.

His vision was getting blurry, no doubt from the strain that his struggling caused. But he was close, so close, he could feel the straps loosening against his wrists. The writhing he was doing was causing more damage from the red splotches staining the once perfectly white sheets. So close,_ just a little more._ His hand started slipping through the leather shackle, the blood acting as a good lubricant. It seemed an eternity before he could contort his hand out of the hold. It was almost animalistic the way he clawed at his other hand to free himself. It took far too much concentration on his part to undo the leather strap, and he had to stop himself midway through.

He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. When he opened them once more it were as if he were watching himself through a mirror. The closest thing that he could think of to describe the scene would be a coyote gnawing its paw off to free itself from a trap. Is that what he had become? Some wild animal caught in a trap? He shook his head and the moment vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He looked down to his bleeding wrist, and scowled.

He was calmer now at least, after his moment of... clairvoyance? That was the best way he could describe it too himself. He had no problem freeing his other hand now, and once it was loose he immediately bunched up part of the blanket to compress around his bleeding wrist. He sat like that for a few minutes, until the bleeding had subsided to a slow trickle. It was then he noticed the pain in his ankles, and saw that his feet were also restrained, and that there was a large amount of bruising creeping out from under the manacles.

After he'd fully freed himself he swung his feet over the side of the bed. His legs were weak as he slowly transferred his weight onto them from the bed. It was almost like learning to walk again, with his slow unsure steps. He limped to the adjoining toilet, and turned on the water once he reached the basin. He splashed water onto his face, and drank greedily straight from the tap. John stood hunched over the sink gripping its edges until his knuckles were white. It took all he had left in him to look into the mirror.

His reflection startled him, entirely. His eyes which were a light blue, then brown the closer you got to his pupil, were normally full of life. They were the main thing that the girls at school complimented him on, the way they shined. Now they were lifeless, his reflection looked like a corpse staring back at him. _I should be a corpse..._ His thoughts wandered to the night which lead to him being here. _Mum... Dad... Archimedes..._ He could feel the tears welling up behind his eyelids. He took as deep a breath he could manage. It hitched in his throat as he willed himself not to cry. A stabbing pain racked through his body. It started at his left shoulder and, with a rippling effect made its way through his every fibre. It was crippling, the way it itched and lived under his skin. With a shaking hand he pulled on the neck of his gown, revealing a large white bandage freckled with red spots. Suddenly he felt suffocated by the loose garment, the way it rested on his skin felt heavy and constricting. He ripped it off and flung it the the cold white floor. He stood there only in his undergarments, and began ripping off the bandage.

He knew he shouldn't, he knew it was a bad idea, but he had too. It was like an unseen force were moving his limbs for him and he had no control. The white cotton fell to the floor, and John stared transfixed at his shoulder. His hand went up to the mirror touching it tenderly as if it were his own skin as he traced over the claw marks. They were horrid deep gashes going from his shoulder, over his collarbone, and across to his right pectoral. It was abrupt and surprising how furious he became in that moment. His hand curled into a fist, and before he realized what he had done the mirror was shattered and pieces of it fell to the floor. His nostrils flared, and his eyes flashed amber in colour. He didn't even notice the small shards of glass imbedded in his knuckles. It was then that his ears perked up, sensing someone was coming.

A small shriek came from by his hospital bed, and a female voice rang out, "The patient's not in his bed, and the blood, there's blood everywhere!" John's body stiffened moving only on some new animal instinct as all rational thought left him.

"Go get the Auror!" A deep male voice ordered, "I'll _restrain_ the patient." Restrain, the way it was said left a bitter taste in John's mouth. They thought he was a monster. Restrain, he was not going to be tied up again. The blond boy limped out of the bathroom, glass crunching under his bare feet. He didn't even notice, as he left bloody foot prints behind him. When he emerged from the bathroom, the mediwizard, in his lime green robes, had his wand trained on John.

The teen's face was dark, and distorted into a dark scowl, a look which had no place adorning his soft features. "Stay where you are." The older male ordered. "You're not well."

"Not well? NOT WELL!" The way his voice boomed and the sarcastic tone felt alien to his own ears. "I know what you're thinking." John's eyes bore into the intruder. "MONSTER!" The silence was thick and all consuming. "I'm right aren't I?" His voice cracked, and the man raised his wand about to cast a spell. Restrain. Automatically John reached for the closest thing next to him, a chair, and with what should have been great effort in his condition whipped it across the room knocking the Mediwizard back so that he dropped his wand. The exertion caused the scabbed over gauges in his shoulder to tear and blood began oozing from the wounds. "Say it! You think I'm a monster!" His face was burning hot and the tears streaming from his eyes felt cool against his skin. "I'm a monster... A MONSTER!" John fell to his knees, sobbing, the brief moment of fury and adrenaline left as quickly as it came.

All he felt know was numb, he felt like nothing. He could hear people talking in the hallway, and recognized one of the voices as his sister. She was screaming for them to let her in. His head felt light, and he knew he was losing consciousness. Someone was moving towards him, but he didn't have the energy to lift his head. A reassuring hand was placed on his shoulder and that same voice he had heard before he blacked out after the attack cooed to him. "You're not a monster." Everything went black after that, and John slipped into unconsciousness once more.

When he woke up the next time, his arms automatically moved testing to see if he was tied down again. "You're not restrained this time." It was that same female voice that had spoke to him twice before. He looked in the direction in which it came from. A woman who was maybe in her mid twenties sat beside his bed. He had never met her before, but she looked familiar, like he should know who she was. "I told them it was a bad idea in the first place, in case you woke up, alone." She smiled at him, and it didn't hold an ounce of pity, for which he was thankful. Her deep blue eyes held a look of understanding. He couldn't help but think that she were rather pretty.

It confused him at first why she was dressed in muggle clothing, it was weird to see a grown witch with out robes on. She seemed to read his mind when she answered his unvoiced question. "I can't stand wearing robes, they're so constricting and stuffy. Give me jeans and a t-shirt any day." She ran her hand through her shoulder length black hair, the tips of which were red, then blue, and finally stopped at green. John blinked a few times unsure if he was hallucinating. "I'm Willow Lupin, by the way." It was then that he realized who, and what she was. Her hand was outstretched.

"John Watson," He shook her hand before adding. "You probably knew that though."

She smiled as she nodded. "Still doesn't hurt being properly introduced."

"Is my sister still here? I heard her... when I was... awake last."

"Yes," Willow's voice sounded disapproving, "but she has been advised not to enter your room just yet."

"Why?" She was all John had left in the world. Why couldn't he see her?

"We had to make sure you would be up for visitor's... and not try to harm yourself first." John opened his mouth to protest that he wouldn't try to hurt himself, images of the last time he woke up flooded his mind. The word monster echoed in his skull. "Its a precaution we use on all newly transformed werewolves. John flinched at the word. "You're not a monster." He wouldn't have believed it coming from anybody else. "And don't listen to anybody telling you other wise. One of the bravest, greatest wizards I knew was a werewolf."

"Your father." John stated, and she nodded a sad smile on her face. "Can I see my sister now?"

"Yes, just don't over exert yourself, and I'll be right outside if you need anything." She stood up from her chair, and walked gracefully towards the door. "You can come in now." Again her voice was dark with distaste. Harry rushed past her as she left pulling John into the most suffocating hug he'd ever received.

"I'm so sorry!" Her words were muffled as she repeated them over and over through her tears. She sobbed uncontrollably for what must have been a quarter of an hour or more. John used his right arm to pat her back.

"It's okay Harry. It's not your fault." His words of reassurance only made things worse. She squeezed him closer, still crying like a small child. John couldn't remember seeing his sister this vulnerable, ever, in his entire life.

"Don't... hate... me." She choked out between bursts of tears. "Please... just promise not... to hate me."

Perplexed was a good word to describe how John was feeling. He didn't understand. "Why would I hate you? You're all I have left." This caused another barrage of bawling to escape her. The way she was still clutching at her younger brother told him he didn't know something. Something important. Something very bad.

"I was so... So jealous of you... John..." She began forcing the words out. "Everyone loved you... everyone always loved you... and I was so jealous..."

"Harry... what are you saying?" John's entire body stiffened as it braced itself for the oncoming news.

"I didn't mean for this to happen. I really didn't. Someone was supposed to scare you. That's it. I swear. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. Don't hate me please. I need you. John... John?" She lifted her head to look her brother in the eye. His arm had fallen from her back and his face was blank as he stared through her. "John, please say something, anything... Please." Again he didn't respond. After everything that had happened, and how well he was taking everything this was the straw. Something inside him broke.

It was at that moment he knew he would never be the same again. He was broken, and no amount of spells or potions could fix him. "Get out." His voice was eerily calm.

"John, please. I love you. I'm so sorry." She pleaded, streams of tears still pouring down her face.

"Now."

"Joh-"

"_Now._" His voice held no venom, he didn't sound angry, he was hollow. It was at this point that Willow walked back in.

"You heard your brother, its time for you to leave." As she spoke she began to pry Harry away. "Harriet you need to leave. For his well being you can't be here."

He saw his sister two days later at his parents funeral. He almost was allowed to attend as the Mediwizard's insisted that his injuries were no where healed enough for him to even be out of bed. Willow convinced them otherwise, for which he was eternally thankful. He sat through the service in an almost catatonic state. Nobody approached him, and when he would walk past them, the limp in his step caused everyone to whisper and share pitying glances. The suit he wore was stifling, and the fabric caused irritation on his bandaged shoulder. The only saving grace to the whole ordeal was that Willow accompanied him, and stayed by his side. A silent guardian making sure he was okay.

At the grave site they stayed behind so he could say his goodbyes privately. Everyone else thought it had been a person who killed his parents. They were all muggles so they couldn't know the truth. John found himself sickened by the funeral altogether. It was a farce, and his parents would never be remembered properly for how brave they were, and no one would ever understand just how much he loved them. He didn't know how long he stood at their graves, saying his silent goodbyes but by the time he turned, facing willow, the sun was setting.

"I'm ready."

Her only response was to nod silently and give him a reassuring smile.

**A/N: Leave some reviews to tell me what you think. I'm always happy to receive constructive criticism or just all out praise really. I'm not picky. The next chapter will probably still be in the past, but you should get to see him transform for the first time, I'm dreadfully sorry for the lack of Sherlock though. **


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